Running Up That Hill
by Hypsidium
Summary: Chapter 102 spoilers. Contains Roiai. Current chapter: Entirely Too Cheerful. He appended his association of the voice with a white uniform and attractively short skirt.
1. Shock

Disclaimer: As can be said of any fan fiction, Fullmetal Alchemist is not my property nor do I make any profit from this. That said, enjoy (or not). Reviews are welcome.

Named for a Placebo song of the same name. May be continued. Also: Roy exhibited symptoms of an acute stress reaction (shock) near the end of the chapter so I opted to play that up a bit. My hope is that it comes across as believable rather than over the top.

Spoilers for Chapter 102. Be forewarned all ye who enter here!

* * *

The events that had transpired were a vague blur of noises and the feel of hands on his clothing to him. The last thing he remembered seeing was the gate, ornately decorated with intertwined serpents. In its way it was both the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and the most hideous. Only the panic of being thrust into such an empty place had kept him from running his hands over the surface just to prove its existence. He was unsure as to why he felt it speak so strongly to him, like it was connected to him somehow. Then the gate opened and everything became clear.

When Mustang was next aware he was dumped unceremoniously onto hard, cold stone in a pitch that exceeded even the darkest night. Then there was Fullmetal's voice to his right, and hands, and the horrible realization he was the only one in the darkness.

He stood then, walking away from Fullmetal's horrified whisper. It just could not be true. He had too much to do, too many people counting on him for his strength and his protection. Even the boy who he left kneeling on the floor needed him to protect him.

Only when his foot met a pipe and he slammed to his knees, sending jolts of agony through his bones and pressing the wounds on his hands further open, did he admit it to himself. He felt feminine hands touch his shoulders gently, and voices, but they just did not register to him.

Blind. He was blind.

For everything he had worked so hard to accomplish to be dashed to pieces at this crucial moment was just insult to injury. He didn't know how could he face his subordinates now, if he even survived this ordeal.

If they even survived this ordeal. Mustang wanted to get up, to use the seals to gage the chemicals in the air, but all he could do was sit on his hands and knees and stare vacantly at the earth uselessly. The sounds around him became more excited; the sounds of breaking earth and stone and pipe rattled his bones.

As the sounds subsided a small hand slipped into his own, tugging hard to urge him to follow. "Come with me!" a girl's voice squeaked, just as an explosion rocked the floor. The girl with the cat, possibly. It was too hard for him to register through the fog of shock.

Obediently he crawled to his knees, sore from his landing and clumsy with a newly acquired lack of visual balance. She led him somewhere that felt enclosed and the sounds of battle behind them were muffled.

"Just...stay here. You're in shock, try to stay still," she sounded nervous, but brave. He longed to see the face of his little savior, the face of a child who should not be fighting such a war.

"Someone will come for you and get you out of here," with that the soft little hand and voice disappeared.

He had no idea how long he sat there, listening to the sounds of a war raging all around him. Sounds so familiar that he wished were much more foreign to his ears. Explosions, yelling, screaming. He still felt very detached, like he wasn't actually in this room hearing the horror.

At some point he felt hands abruptly cradle his face, calloused and slender, smoothing his hair away. He could not even muster up the ability to flinch away from the hands, but thankfully they were not the hands of an enemy. Far from it.

"Oh, Roy, what have they done to you..." she whispered, pressing her forehead to his as though she could transfer her strength into him. He know that voice so well and he couldn't even respond beyond clenching his fingers and closing his eyes to her scrutiny. The pain in his hands did not even reach him.

"Take him up first, we need to get him out of here," said the woman. Huge furred hands lifted him, cradling him against a shoulder like a child before they moved in an oddly jolting pace. It felt like whomever was carrying him was jumping.

After what felt like hours he was released onto the ground, where he promptly lost his balance and fell to his knees again. More hands gathered him up, he was unsure how many and did not particularly care. Through the haze he felt himself be sat down somewhere and and cup was held to his lips. Somewhere his body did not open its mouth and water dribbled down his chin onto his shirt to mingle with the stains already there.

"Colonel," murmured a young man, hand on his should to steady him. "Colonel, open up. You should drink something."

A soft and more sophisticated voice interrupted. "This is an acute stress reaction, Fuery. He's in shock. The best thing we can do for him now is to keep him comfortable and out of danger until he recovers. I'll stay with him for now, you need to go help establish communication."

"R-right!" The hand retreated and there was the sound of boots on gravel.

"Just stay still, Colonel. I'm here," Falman sat next to Mustang, close enough their shoulders touched. Mustang could not help but feel safer with the presence of another human being there, so steadfast and reassured.

"The others will be here soon enough to help you. We're here for you, sir," Falman continued, reassuring him with his voice over the chaotic noises outside.

"We'll always be here for you."


	2. Enlightening

Disclaimer: As can be said of any fan fiction, Fullmetal Alchemist is not my property nor do I make any profit from this. That said, enjoy (or not). Reviews are welcome.

Named for a Placebo song of the same name.

Spoilers for Chapter 102. Be forewarned all ye who enter here!

* * *

Somewhere along the way he had slept. For how long he was not certain. It must have been night, because it was very dark. He tried to sit up and felt his every muscle scream in protest.

"Sir?" the voice was soft, hoarse, and to his right. Not close, but not too far. "You should lie still, you had a mild dislocation to your shoulder and some lacerations."

He turned his head towards her, trying to see her in the dark. When he had last seen her Mei had stopped the bleeding but worry continued to niggle at the back of his mind. "Hawkeye," he addressed her calmly. "Are you well?"

There was a pause and he heard shuffling and the rolling of something across a tile floor. Then a hand met his. "I am. They gave me some stitches and I'm taking a blood transfusion right now. I am very lucky," the last part sounded almost despairing.

He blinked and folded his other hand over hers. Apparently the one she gripped gently had an IV drip line in it. "Why is it so dark in the hospital? Are we at that mortician's house? Is everyone alright?" He felt a tinge of panic tighten in his chest like a vice.

Wetness dripped onto his hand, stinging the stitched wounds. "Hawkeye, who..."

"Sir," she whispered, a hand touching his face. "Sir, don't you remember?"

His eyes widened with a flicker of clarity.

"_Remember, there's a price to be paid for this," the impish creature before him whispered into his mind, grinning at him._

"_A price? For what?" Roy answered in kind, unable to speak but still able to wonder in his head._

"_Why, to see Truth, of course! But I'll be gentle. You aren't here on your own, so I won't leave you _completely_ broken. But I must take something, hm...That will do," Truth's smile was a mile wide and not unlike a homonculus he had encountered. It disturbed him._

_The blinding lights, the images, the wind. Smell of fresh air, little black hands all over his body, taking him apart and reassembling him before he could even cry out in pain. He cried out instead for the sheer horror of it all._

After that, there was the feeling of hitting a floor, hands, voices...Sounds and smells and touches, but nothing else.

"Hawkeye," he gripped her hand to prevent her from moving away. "Are the lights on?"

There was a hitch in her breath, but she schooled it to neutrality. "Yes, sir."

"I see," he released his grip, feeling that the wound had opened afresh and added new blood to the old already on his hands. As if he didn't already carry enough in spirit he now had it in the physical.

"Sir..."

He let his hand go lax and turned his head away. "Is everyone alright?"

"Fuu and Buccaneer did not make it. We're not sure what happened to Hohenheim or Scar, they're no where to be found. Other than that, we are all still living. There were injuries of course, but we're still living," she pulled her hand away and he heard a very soft sniff. Possibly she was wiping her eyes. It was the worst thing that had happened to him thus far to know he had caused her tears.

"Good," he whispered, smiling faintly. "If you can, get flowers for the fallen. You know my accounts. I would, but..." he held up his hands and let them fall back to the bed limply.

He listened to her breathing for a moment. "Don't cry for me Hawkeye, I don't deserve tears," he muttered.

"Sir," it sounded like she had just saluted him but her voice was wavering. "You are every bit as deserving of tears as the next person."

"Hawkeye," he tried to sound stern and only managed to sound tired. "Stop it."

"Roy Mustang." She countered, catching him off guard. "I have known you most of my life, don't you _dare_ tell me when I can and cannot cry for you. This is not some enemy's trick."

He opened his mouth, and closed it, gaping like a fish. He cleared his throat and frowned. "Very well, Lieutenant."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a time and she recaptured his hand, resting hers over it gently.

"You should know that Alphonse has his body back. You'll have to ask the boys how. They're in the room across the hall. When you feel up to it, we can go see them."

"Don't worry too much about coming to see us," came the drawl of Ed's voice from somewhere on the left. "I came to see you." Something scooted across the floor, presumably a chair.

"How you doin', Colonel?" He was close now.

"As well as can be expected," Mustang returned, sourly. "How's Al?"

"The doctors said he's malnourished, and that he'll have to be in a wheelchair for a while, but they're optimistic..." He could almost hear Fullmetal rubbing the back of his head, trying to reassure himself.

"And your arm, your leg?"

"I left them. I could either have Al, or have my limbs...I chose Al."

Mustang smiled. "You're a good brother," he halted and corrected himself. "A good man."

"No better than the one in front of me--"

Compliments from Fullmetal were few and far in between.

"--When you're not being a jackass. You still owe me."

And short lived. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm pretty sure it's you who owes me, remember, Fullmetal?"

"Not until you're Fuhrer. And after that, not until there's a democracy."

Roy's heart stopped for a moment. This kid still expected him to be Fuhrer in the state he was in. Expected him to lead a country. "Then keep the damn money, it's not like that'll happen now," he spat before he could stop himself.

"Colonel," Hawkeye started, but was waved off by Ed.

"It can happen. You never backed down before," Fullmetal continued, not phased in the least.

"I'll be discharged from the military if I'm not already! I can't be Fuhrer." Roy clenched his fists, ignoring how much it hurt. "Don't be stupid, Fullmetal."

"I could say the same to you. I'll settle for an advisor position..." He made it sound like an offer.

"Impossible," Roy turned his head away from him. "Look at me. No one would have me in office."

"Suit yourself, if you just want to mope..." Ed got up, shoving the chair back against the wall. "But just remember who came to me when I felt like I couldn't do anything with just one leg and one arm. Remember who told me I could."

Mustang refused to look up until he left.


	3. Entirely Too Cheerful

Disclaimer: As can be said of any fan fiction, Fullmetal Alchemist is not my property nor do I make any profit from this. That said, enjoy (or not). Reviews are welcome.

Named for a Placebo song of the same name. Sorry this chapter is a little short, perhaps the next will be longer.

Spoilers for Chapter 102. Be forewarned all ye who enter here!

* * *

The rest of the day had passed very quietly, with the occasional word from Hawkeye. As much as Mustang was loathe to admit it he was sulking. Fullmetal's words had stung, especially in the face of reality. Hawkeye knew better than to coax it out of him, being versed enough in the many moods of her Colonel to let him talk to her when he needed to.

Eventually a woman – nurse? -- came in with the evening meal and scolded her thoroughly for being out of bed in her condition, to which she retorted that she was a soldier and guarding her commanding officer was her duty. After all, she had been placed in this room for that very purpose. Not because the doctors were afraid that her protests might reopen her wound. Nor because she was scary as hell when she was riled.

Roy felt a pang of guilt, having not noticed just how much her hands shook when she touched him. When the nurse began a recount of the surgeries that had been done and medications his second in command had been taking that would prevent her from strenuous activities he felt his guilt deepen.

"Hawkeye, get back in bed," he ordered. "I need you well."

There was a pause and he could feel her eyes narrow at him ever so slightly. "Yes, sir."

"Well, glad someone has some sense!" the nurse had chirped, entirely too cheerful. "Good to see you're awake, Mr. Mustang. We had to sedate you for a while there, but you seem to be coping nicely now!"

Roy grimaced. "Yes, well..."

The nurse continued like he hadn't even spoken. "I've brought your evening meals, we even managed to scrape up some beef stew! It should be splendid. Got to keep your strength up, after all! Tomorrow we should be starting physical therapy, and let me tell you, it'll be rough."

"Of course..." _What fresh hell was this woman from?_

"Now then, I'll give you your schedules for tomorrow!" The nurse seemed to be incapable of speaking without some form of joyous shouting. "Mr. Mustang. Eight AM, breakfast. Ten AM until eleven AM, physical therapy. Noon, lunch. One PM until three PM, more physical therapy. Ms. Hawkeye, you will accompany Mr. Mustang to his ten AM therapy, but we've decided to keep your afternoon therapy to one hour. You'll also be given snacks in between meals." There was a clack of ceramic on wood as the nurse set the bowls on the small bedside tables.

"Very well," Hawkeye did not sound pleased, but was resigned to her fate.

"I'll be in later to collect your bowls, then!" the nurse twittered at them, apparently heading out the door.

"Daft woman..." Hawkeye whispered under her breath. Funny how he caught that. "She's a volunteer, the hospital had to call for as many extra hands as possible. She's been delivering meals today rather than the nurses."

"I see..." He appended his association of the voice with a white uniform and attractively short skirt. The irony of his words struck him at that moment, but he chose to ignore it. He heard her shuffling around and immediately held up a hand to stop her.

"No, I heard what she said. You're staying put. I'll come to you."

"Sir!" The hoarseness in her voice was much more audible when she raised her voice above an even tone.

"Just...Tell me where I'm going, alright?" He tried to give her a reassuring smile and it came out as an awkward grimace. He took her silence as a meaningful stare, which stung more than a little.

Instead of asking again he proceeded to feel out the side of his bed, discovering – to his relief – that his IV was not attached to the frame in any way and instead allowed to hang loosely over the rail. A cursory feel found that the railing was short enough that despite his aches he could likely find his way over it.

"Sir, there's a chair a little off set from your bed, your IV is behind it...Please, just let me help you," she sounded stressed, somewhere between the 'I-will-shoot-you-for-being-an-idiot-Roy-Mustang' stressed and the 'I-am-tired-enough-of-this-to-do-it-anyway' stressed. "It will be much easier."

Roy paused, considering this before bowing his head to her wisdom with a sigh. "You have to promise me that you'll be back in bed as soon as I'm seated. Actually, make that an order."

"Sir," he could hear her salute. How funny that he could still sense how she moved even without seeing it for himself.

In moments the railing slipped down with a soft clang and he heard the rolling of another IV stand. Cool hands coaxed him up into a seated position and became a guide for him to stand. The stand was thrust into his hand so that hers could be more preoccupied with leading him forward. As always, he trusted her fully in this.

Hawkeye would never lead him astray.


End file.
